


and simmer, simmer

by itsahockeynight



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1, Get Together, M/M, POV Alternating, Sexual Tension, Slow(ish) Burn, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 21:32:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15373764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahockeynight/pseuds/itsahockeynight
Summary: “Only took us eleven years.” Five times Nicky and Ovi almost kissed, and one time they did.





	and simmer, simmer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshinexbomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinexbomb/gifts).



> \- if you’re in any way associated with the NHL or any of the players mentioned above, please close this tab  
> \- sunshinexbomb: can you believe there’s not a five times nicky and ovi almost kissed and one time they did fic  
> me: is that a fucking challenge bc... challenge filed away for later consideration  
> I’m so glad I didn’t say ‘challenge accepted’ because this took way longer than I was expecting. oh dear.  
> \- Shout-out to tori for inadvertently saving #3, and to [hypocorism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypocorism) and [hotcrosbuns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotcrosbuns) for the beta!

1: January 2009

Sasha kind of hates how good Nicky is at video games. Like, he’s good at cards, at hockey, at games, can he leave something for the rest of them? Sasha’s lost so many bets because of him. He’s not going to lose this one though.

“You can’t beat,” he says, brandishing his controller. “No way, Backy, no way.”

Nicky gives Sasha’s time the same stare he gives faceoff opponents, which is pretty funny, really. “You’re not the boss of me,” he retorts, and plucks the controller right out of Sasha’s hand. Ooh, Nicky’s pissy now, that’s always fun. He drops down on the couch as Sasha gets up and wanders into the kitchen to get another Coke from the fridge. He grabs one for Nicky as well, almost as an afterthought, and the packet of peanut M&Ms they started before and forgot about.

When he gets back Nicky’s waiting impatiently, like he knows Sasha would pitch a fit if he wasn’t there the whole run to make sure Nicky isn’t cheating. “You ready? I can start?”

Sasha drops his bounty on the coffee table and plants himself right next to Nicky, close enough to be annoying. “Fine, you want lose quicker, go.” He slings his arm oh-so-casually across the back of the couch.

“No backseat driving,” Nicky says. He’s trying to be stern, but he’s right on the edge of laughing again. Sasha sticks his tongue out at him.

“Why I help you? Want you be bad.” He’s just going to breathe down Nicky’s neck, try and distract him a little. It probably won’t work, but it’s worth a try, right?

Nicky _hmphs_ and turns his attention to the TV, so Sasha settles in to watch.

Fuck, Nicky’s _really good_ at shooting aliens. Sasha forgets all about trying to throw him off, he’s too busy swearing internally. He’s going to lose this fucking bet too, fuck.

His eyes flicker from the TV to Nicky’s face. Nicky’s biting his lip in concentration, and it’s... distracting.

Oh. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s noticed Nicky’s lips. They’re almost always soft and red and shiny, and Sasha likes kissing guys sometimes, of course he’s _noticed_. But noticing isn’t _looking_. And he hasn’t looked like this before.

So Sasha looks. Nicky’s hair, squished down by his ever-present backwards hat, is curling around his ears and the back of his neck, golden. Sasha wonders if he likes people pulling it. He doesn’t like people touching his hair, usually, but he lets Sasha do it. Maybe he’d like it in bed. Now that’s a thought to revisit when he’s alone. Sasha shifts in his seat. Nicky’s cheeks are pink and round and despite the pimples his skin looks so soft. Sasha wants to rub his own face against Nicky’s, kiss his cheek just to see what it feels like. Kiss his mouth, too. Kiss all of him.

Fuck, he’s gonna pop a boner if he doesn’t stop thinking about this stuff. But it’s like he’s skidding down a slope now. He can’t stop. He knows what Nicky looks like naked and he can see it in his head. In his bed. He’s seen Nicky kiss girls before and he wants to know if he’s always that gentle. If he’d bite if Sasha asked.

Nicky’s nearly finished the level and then he’s gonna turn around and see Sasha bright red and half hard and it’s gonna be so fucking awkward. Fuck, Sasha, pull yourself together.

Whose idea was it to sit so close to each other on such a big couch?

Nicky beats his time. Sasha only knows this because he yells, delighted, when he’s done, and punches the air. Before he can get a grip enough to react, Nicky says “ _See?_ ” and shoves a cushion in Sasha’s face, breaking the spell. Sasha shoves him back, going down fighting, but Nicky has the upper hand by the time they’re sprawled out on the couch. He’s got Sasha pinned down, and that’s. Well. That’s fucking hot, and Sasha’s mind goes straight back down into the gutter.

Nicky was laughing. He’s not now. He’s looking at Sasha like some of what he’s been thinking is showing on his face. Or maybe he can feel Sasha’s hard dick against his leg. Either way, his eyes are wide, he’s staring, and his ears are going red. His mouth is open and so close to Sasha’s. He’s not getting up and running away. Oh God.

Sasha can’t move. He can’t look away.

At the worst possible time, Sasha’s fucking phone rings. Fuck. The moment cracks and shatters as Nicky jerks away from him, startled. He almost falls off the couch. Sasha sits up and fumbles for his phone, shaking his head to clear it. It’s probably his Mama calling, so he can’t just ignore it.

He and Nicky can pick this up again later. There’s plenty of time.

 

2: November 2012

Nicke likes Moscow, or what Alex has shown him of Moscow. Alex showing Nicke Moscow basically boils down to him taking Nicke out for dinner at a succession of upscale restaurants, and walking around his old neighborhood while regaling Nicke with stories of his childhood. So he likes Alex’s Moscow, and he’s touched that Alex trusts him with these little bits of himself. They’re not secrets, exactly, but they’re things not everyone sees, and Nicke is going to cherish them.

They’ve been spending almost all their time together since Nicke arrived. Alex isn’t the only English speaker on the team – Komarov even speaks Swedish – but Nicke is here because of Alex, so he looks after Nicke. And yes, Nicke likes hanging out with him, has been having fun, but.

Fuck.

Nicke can’t stop thinking about how much everything he and Alex have been doing while he’s been here feels like dating. If he was doing this stuff with Mike he wouldn’t even think twice about it, but it’s _Alex_ , and it’s different with Alex. Mike doesn’t check Nicke out when he thinks Nicke’s not looking, for one thing. Nicke doesn’t ever dream about kissing Mike, either. But Alex begged him to come here, Nicke is _living_ with him. Nicke fell asleep in his bed last night while watching a movie, for God’s sake. He’s started praying the NHL gets a move on just so they can go back to DC before he does something incredibly stupid.

Tonight Alex has already paid for their dinner and insisted on picking the wine. Now they’re walking back to Alex’s building in the moonlight... and it’s starting to snow. What a fucking cliché.

They stop to wait for the lights to change, standing close together instinctively, trying to stay warm. Nicke works at his lip with his teeth absent-mindedly, watching the traffic and trying to clear his head. He’s being ridiculous. He’s here to play hockey. Alex is his friend, that’s all.

He glances up and then stops, caught. Alex is watching him with a slight frown. “You have –” He reaches out and Nicke freezes, but all Alex does is brush the snow off Nicke’s hair. Nicke shivers involuntarily as Alex looks up at the sky, oblivious. He’s not cold. “Not gonna stop.” Alex brushes more snow off even though it’s replaced almost immediately. “Should have worn hat, Backy.”

Nicke ducks his head. He will _not_ become a stuttering, blushing idiot just because Alex touched his hair, Alex does that all the time. “I have a hood.” He has two, actually, so he busies himself with pulling them up. Alex, muttering under his breath, gets right in Nicke’s face, fiddling with the ties until he’s satisfied Nicke’s ears aren’t going to freeze. Nicke can’t move, hypnotized by how close Alex is. His breath tickles Nicke’s cheek and Nicke swallows, feeling himself going red.

Alex makes a satisfied sound and leans back to admire his handiwork. They must have missed the lights, Nicke thinks desperately. He can’t tear his eyes away from Alex’s face, from his mouth. He’s so, he looks so. Fuck.

Alex has noticed him staring. “Backy,” he says softly. He’s still got one hand resting on Nicke’s chest, but as Nicke stares at him, unsure, he steps back, breaking eye contact and turning towards the road. “Come on, we gotta go.”

Nicke’s heart-rate slowly returns to normal as they start walking again. Maybe he should have just gone for it. He’s thought that enough times over the years and never done it, mostly out of fear. If, despite the evidence, he’s somehow gotten this all wrong, it’d be awful. Alex might never look at him the same again, and they have to be able to work together, for the sake of the team if nothing else. They haven’t won a Cup yet.

He just wishes he knew what Alex was _thinking_.

 

3: August 2014

Trotz is probably going to be good for the team. Sasha doesn’t trust him yet, is waiting until training camp to start thinking about that, but so far he’s hopeful. He’s hopeful about this season in general. Anything would be better than the bitter disappointment of last season, the beginning of this year. As fun as it was, he doesn’t want to win another World Championship medal. The Caps have to be his number one priority.

It starts now, two weeks before training camp. He’s ready to be hands-on, to start working with the coaches, drop in on rookie camp. Nicky’s here too, to meet the new guys. Orpik will probably get the other A, so Sasha wants to get a read on him early. It’s going to be weird, playing with him instead of against him.

Maybe if he ticks off enough things on his list, if he does enough, this year will be different.

One different thing he and Nicky are trying is doing some of their training together, seeing as they’re both here early. Nicky’s training regime is pretty different to his own, but there’s plenty they can do together, and Sasha fucking loves competing with Nicky in basically everything. Nicky’s such an asshole, he gets pissy when he loses, and it’s fun as hell. Sasha’s not above playing dirty to get the upper hand either, so they make a good match in that regard.

They did gym stuff together yesterday, but today Sasha’s trainer is dragging all four of them out to one of the high schools so they can use their playing fields for drills and shit. It means carrying all the gear around, which Sasha would probably bitch more about if it wasn’t a great time to talk to Nicky. He’s somehow managed to avoid really talking to Sasha despite spending time with each other nearly every day this week. There’s always something they need to do.

Nicky was so crushed by missing the playoffs. Sasha probably should have talked to him about it earlier in the summer, when he was too busy licking his own wounds. But he’s here now, and Nicky’s here now.

Sasha saw the pictures of Nicky’s silver medal presentation, even though Nicky never sent them to him. He was probably trying not to remind Sasha of how fucked his own Olympic experience was, but that was months ago. Sasha can be happy for his friend without making it about him.

So he elbows Nicky in the ribs as they’re walking from the cars. “What you doing with medal? Frame it?”

Nicky blinks at the change of subject, then shrugs. “It’s in a box for now. I mean, I have the jersey, I’ll probably put them together somehow.”

“You show me when you do.”

Nicky gives him a long look. Finally he shrugs again, expression relaxing. “Okay, sure.” It eases a bit, whatever it was between them. There’s more to talk about, but Sasha can work with this.

Half an hour later Sasha doubles over, panting. No matter how much work he does over the summer, this last phase of training always hits him right in the nuts, metaphorically. The running on its own isn’t so bad, but all the direction changes are the real killer. At least Nicky’s also bent double and gasping for breath. Sasha watches him shove his hair out of his face, which turns into just... watching. Dangerous.

He sees Nicky on the ice, obviously, and in the gym, but sweaty, flushed Nicky squinting in the sun because he refuses to wear a hat properly is a bit less familiar. And hot, if Sasha is being honest with himself, which he’s trying to do more of now. Nicky, like Sasha, is objectively weird-looking in a lot of ways, but somehow it works, especially when he’s flushed with exertion and giving Sasha shit.

Nicky pulls his t-shirt up to mop his face, exposing most of his chest and belly. Sasha swallows. He wants to get his hands on that so bad. Nicky’s skin always looks so soft, and there’s miles of it. Fuck. Every time he thinks he’s getting over it, Nicky does something completely mundane and somehow earth-shattering, and Sasha’s in trouble again. Sasha grabs a bottle at random and squirts water all over his face and neck. He needs to concentrate. The next exercise involves holding onto each other, and he needs to be thinking about anything but this.

Nicky rubs his hands together. “Ready?” He sounds like he thinks he’s about to kick Sasha’s ass, and Sasha’s not going to stand for that.

“Bring it on, Backy.” He flexes and Nicky tips back his head and laughs. It’s impossible not to grin along with him.

Okay, joking over now. It’s Nicky’s turn first, so Sasha plants his feet and braces. Nicky’s strong as an ox, and it doesn’t matter that Sasha is taller and heavier than he is, Nicky’s going to move him. All he can do is push back with all his weight, and that doesn’t stop Nicky from propelling them both across the grass, grunting with effort.

Their trainers are both yelling encouragement, and that’s his downfall – Sasha glances over at them for a fraction of a second, loses his balance, and sends them both sprawling.

Ow.

Sasha spits some of Nicky’s hair out of his mouth. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fuck.” Nicky slowly props himself up on one elbow, hovering over Sasha. He looks winded. They look at each other for a second in silence before they both crack up.

Nicky collapses back on top him, shaking. Sasha shoves him, which makes him laugh more and shove back. They end up wrestling, rolling over on the grass like idiots. Sasha finally pins Nicky down and dissolves into giggles again because Nicky has leaves in his hair and looks absolutely disheveled. Sasha must be a sight himself, because Nicky is nearly crying with laughter too.

Nicky’s close enough to kiss right now. Sasha drops his head onto Nicky’s chest so he doesn’t do anything stupid, like follow that thought to its natural conclusion. Nicky’s warm and solid beneath him, and he really needs to get a grip. Nicky’s noticed he’s stopped laughing.

“Ovi?”

He’s saved by Pavel yelling across to them. “Come on Sasha, don’t just lie there! Let’s fucking go.”

He raises his head again. The coast is clear, Nicky’s stopped paying attention to him and is trying to parse the Russian. “Your turn?”

“Yeah.” Sasha scrambles up and offers him a hand.

Over an hour later they’re both flat on the ground again, because trainers are evil geniuses and Sasha fucking hates them.

Well. Maybe not. But he might actually be dead, and from the noises Nicky is making, he’s not far off. Sasha’s never getting up – his entire body feels like it’s been put through a wringer. Twice. Jesus. This is what he gets for being a competitive bastard.

There’s a thump somewhere to his left and Nicky grunts. Sasha tips his head to the side just in time for Nicky to roll a bottle of Gatorade over and gently hit him in the face with it. He manages to get it open and chug half of it without spilling any. Amazing. God, Sasha loves Nicky. What would he do without him?

“You’d survive,” Nicky says, and Sasha starts. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Did he say all of that out loud? “But you’d never score again, so you’d have to get Holts to teach you how to–”

“Oh fuck you, I score without you!” Sasha could shove him again, but he’s too tired. “Greenie will pass to me.”

“Fat chance,” says Nicky, and then grunts as he tries to get up. And fails. “Fuck.”

Sasha doesn’t even want to try to get up, because the same thing is going to happen to him. “It’s okay, we both die here, they play without us...”

Nicky groans. “Kuznetsov is going to be sad without you. He’ll burn your house down. Lose your dogs.”

“Jojo steal your car,” Sasha retorts, and Nicky makes a gagging noise.

“Fuck you, low blow.” The trainers are walking around them, packing up, discussing the session in broken English. Sasha doesn’t even want to know.

Nicky groans again. Sasha rolls his head to the side again to watch him struggle into a sitting position and rest his head on one knee. His hair’s so gross. “Ugh.”

“You okay there?”

“No.” Nicky lifts his head. “Come on, you promised me lunch.”

“We too gross to go out.”

“So go home and shower first.” Nicky’s apparently run out of sympathy for him already. Wow. Just because he can sit up and Sasha can’t...

It takes two tries, but he sits up eventually. Nicky, like always, has the assist, planting his sweaty hand in between Sasha’s bare shoulders and helping push him the rest of the way.

 

4: December 2015

They win their last game before the break and go out afterwards, an impromptu party. Nicke lets TJ push far too many shots at him, riding high on their win streak and the prospect of a few days off. By the time he abandons the drinking game only TJ and Tom are really following, Nicke’s a bit unsteady on his feet and he doesn’t particularly care. So he’s drunk and setting a bad example for the kids. Fuck it, it’s nearly Christmas, they’re allowed to loosen up a bit. They’ve definitely seen worse, anyway.

Nicke gets about halfway down the room they’re in before draping himself all over the shoulders of the next person he sees. It’s Andre, so Nicke blows air into his ear until he squirms. Mackan, who Andre was trying to talk to, cackles. Andre at the same time whines, “fucking _stop_ , Nicke,” so Nicke does it again.

“How many shots did you have?” Mackan asks, and Nicke shrugs and leans more heavily on Andre’s shoulders.

“I’m not driving, it’s...” Sentences are hard. “Good. Fine.”

“You’re embarrassing me,” Andre says, sounding completely resigned, like he’s a fifty-year-old man with an annoying teenage child. Nicke tugs his hair. If he’s the annoying teenager, he might as well live up to it. Andre’s scrunched up, petulant face is fucking funny.

Mackan tosses back his drink, rolling his eyes, and that catches Nicke’s attention, makes him look down at their table.

“Andre Burakovsky, are you _drinking?_ ” He pulls the most over-the-top angry face he can. “You’re still a baby. Babies don’t get beer.” Nicke picks up the bottle and considers it. No point wasting it. He downs it in a few mouthfuls, ignoring Andre’s protests, and sets the bottle down again carefully.

“Jojo, come on! You’re just going to laugh?”

“You look so _mad_ ,” Mackan says, covering his face with one hand as he dissolves into giggles. “Burky, you keep complaining, he’s only going to get worse.”

He’s right. Nicke laughs and flicks Andre’s ear until he starts shoving him off altogether. “Nicke, go _away_.”

Someone slings an arm around him, and Nicke maybe melts into it a bit. “Backy annoying you? I’ll take him.” Alex shakes him a little. “Come on, leave Burky alone.”

“He deserves it,” Nicke says vaguely as Alex leads him away from the table. He’s already forgotten what Andre did. Alex smells nice.

“English, Nicky,” Alex says, and Nicke blinks up at him and tries to get an English sentence that’s not “Your beard looks nice” into the right order in his head. It’s not fair, Alex looking like that when Nicke’s drunk and can’t think straight.

“It’s just Burky,” he manages eventually, and Alex throws back his head and laughs. Nicke wants to bite his neck.

“You really drunk, huh?”

“No I’m not,” Nicke says, tearing his eyes away, but spoils it by nearly falling over his own feet immediately. Alex still has an arm around him and catches him before he eats it on the floor, which is nice, because Nicke gets to be crushed up against him for a second. He _does_ smell nice. Maybe he changed his shampoo or something.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Nicke says, staring again. Alex is magnetic, and Nicke’s self-control is thoroughly gone. His face looks so good in profile. Alex doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps guiding Nicke with an arm around his shoulders. Nicke thinks vaguely about finding somewhere quiet, a hallway or bathroom or something, keeping Alex there and just looking his fill with no one to interrupt. He and Alex are hardly alone anymore, and since Mike left Nicke really feels it. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or something. Whatever. Maybe if they’re alone Alex will finally kiss him.

They’re not alone.

Alex pours him into a booth with Dima and Kuzy, says something to them in Russian, then sits down next to him and joins in their conversation. Nicke couldn’t follow this much Russian if he was sober, so he doesn’t even try now, just slumps against Alex and rests his head on his shoulder. The rumble of his voice is calming.

Nicke drifts for a while. At some point he drinks something, something sour. Someone who isn’t Alex laughs, but Nicke’s not really paying attention, because then Alex puts his arm around Nicke’s shoulders and that’s really. Something. Nicke thinks idly about climbing into Alex’s lap for a bit, wondering what he’d do. It’s a nice thought, but Nicke’s too sloshed to get much out of it. He’s content to just get a nice dose of Alex’s body heat right now.

“Nicky. Nicky. _Backy_.”

Huh? Oh. Alex is talking to him. He should... do something about that, probably.

Nicke’s dropping firmly into “sleepy drunk” territory by now, but he only sways a little once he peels himself off Alex’s shoulder. Alex chuckles as he helps Nicke out of the booth (Where are they going now? They only just got here), catching him when he nearly falls again. Nicke bumps his head on Alex’s chin, swears, then nearly chokes on his own tongue when he looks up. Alex’s face is right there, with his pretty blue eyes and his distracting lips and his dumb sexy beard. Nicke could probably touch his mouth right now and Alex wouldn’t even question it, and he’s still drunk enough that it seems like a really good idea.

Alex tilts his head at him, and Nicke stops with his hand hovering between them. He didn’t realize he’d actually moved it. Alex doesn’t say anything, like he’s waiting for something, and Nicke thinks wildly that he _should_ kiss him, that Alex is waiting for Nicke to finally do it. He sways forward again, eyes fluttering closed.

“Backy.” Alex catches him by the shoulder at the last moment. Nicke’s too far gone to interpret his tone, and too scared, suddenly, to open his eyes. Alex’s mouth must be _right there_. Alex is – touching his face, tilting his chin up, oh. That’s, oh. That’s nice.

“Hey. Nicky.” His voice is so soft Nicke barely hears it, but it’s enough to get his eyes to open. Alex’s mouth is indeed _right there_ , but so are the crinkles around his eyes, the ones that only come out when he’s smiling. Nicke blinks dumbly at him, heart thumping. His poor head can’t process all of this. Alex is still touching his face. Alex might be looking at his mouth. Thinking is overrated.

But, “come on, bedtime,” is all Alex says, and he starts leading Nicke out of the bar. Nicke doesn’t even have time to regret missing his moment, because his brain immediately conjures up a vision of Alex naked in Nicke’s hotel room. He only half-heartedly tries to get rid of it, it’s such a nice image. He’s going to have such nice dreams tonight. Alex is so nice, looking after him like this.

Alex is holding his hand.

They collect a tired looking Carly on their way out, or maybe Carly collects them, Nicke’s not entirely certain. Either way, Carly is there and they’re outside now. It’s not important. Alex is holding his hand. _That’s_ important, somehow, Nicke is pretty sure. He should pay attention to that so he remembers it tomorrow. Yeah.

There’s a taxi. There’s Alex nudging him into a taxi. There’s Alex doing up Nicke’s seatbelt. Whatever Carly is saying to the driver slips by Nicke like oil on water. He slumps further into his seat and just stares at Alex. Alex. Alex. Alex Alexalexalex...

“Hey. Backy.” There’s a big warm hand on his face. Nicke sinks into it. He’s so tired. “Come on,” Alex is saying, “we’re here.”

 

5: May 2017

“I can’t do this. I can’t keep _doing_ this!”

It’s become tradition, over the years, to eat together one last time after breakdown and exit interviews, before they scatter for the summer. To talk about the season one last time before setting their eyes firmly on the future.

It’s never as happy a conversation as they wish it would be. They’ve never fought like this over it, though.

“So what, just give up? You just give up?” Sasha’s so fucking tired. His knee aches. He doesn’t know if he can stand another year like this, but he has to. He _has_ to. There’s no other option for him. But Nicky...

“Well I’ve tried everything else!” His voice is rising to a shout.

“And what you think _I_ been doing, _vacation?_ ”

Nicky slaps the counter with an open palm. “I don’t know what the _fuck_ you’ve been doing, I’m not the one who only scored–”

Oh fuck no. “What’s that supposed to mean? Fuck you, you think I don’t care if we lose?”

“No, fuck –” Nicky has the grace to look apologetic for a second, but his tongue always gets sharp as hell when he’s upset “– it would be nice if you didn’t pretend everything is fucking fine, though!”

Sasha recoils. He tries to have a positive outlook, when people ask, because anything else would crush him completely. Not because he’s... _flippant_ , or whatever the fuck Nicky is implying. “I’m _captain_ , I _have_ to be positive, or we all fucked.” Or they’ll never stop writing those things about how he’s not worthy of the C, how he should give up and go back to the KHL.

Nicky leans hard on the counter, bowing his head. His shoulders are shaking. “People are going to get traded, Alex, that’s how it fucking _works_.” He does sound genuinely furious. Sasha doesn’t know how to fix this.

“I know. Fuck, Backy, I _know_ , but you say, like it’s over, end of everything.” Nicky has to understand. Sasha can’t do this if Nicky doesn’t understand. “We can’t give up, we not done yet.”

“Well,” Nicky’s suddenly spitting with – rage, frustration, whatever it is – and Sasha’s hackles are up whether he wants them to be or not. “Something’s not fucking working! _Something_ has to change!”

“Can’t just tear team apart!”

“What else can they fucking do?” Nicky slaps the counter again. “Nothing’s worked! Nothing’s worked for _ten years!_ ”

What is he supposed to say to that? Please don’t leave me? I can’t do this without you?

“Then fucking ask them to trade _you_ , you hate so much!”

Nicky sucks in a breath. Sasha’s so close to him he could count his eyelashes. His mouth tastes like ash. Nicky looks like Sasha just spat on him, or slapped him in the face. He shouldn’t have said that. Fuck, maybe he’s ruined everything. Maybe Nicky _would_ be better off without him. They could just rip the band-aid off straight away, to make it quick.

Or maybe he should just kiss Nicky now. What does he have left to lose?

Maybe – oh. Oh.

Nicky’s looking at his mouth. Sasha’s traitorous heart, so close to cracking open a second ago, begins to flutter with hope again. Nicky’s flushed, breathing heavily, and it’s not just from yelling. Sasha can feel himself going red.

Nicky makes a wretched noise and turns away. Before Sasha can do or say anything he’s gone, gone from the kitchen, from the hallway, from the house.

Fuck.

 

+1 (and two, and three...): June 2018

It’s a four-hour flight from Las Vegas to Washington DC. The first hour is pretty rowdy, because no one is completely sober and they just won the fucking Stanley Cup, after all, but it does quiet down quite a bit after that. Everyone’s tired.

Nicke and Alex are squished in next to each other at one of the tables, Alex because he has the Cup and Nicke because he doesn’t want to let either of them out of his sight. Some of the other guys were rotating in and out of the other seats to talk, but they’re alone now. Nicke slumps a bit in his seat, stretching his legs out with a sigh. Alex is stroking the Cup absent-mindedly. It’s kind of sweet.

“You gonna sleep?”

Nicke turns to look at him. “Don’t think I can.”

Alex hums a bit. Nicke looks at the little smile on his face and feels fondness bloom in his chest all over again. It’s amazing, how much weight seems to have come off his shoulders. Nicke feels pretty fucking invincible right now, so he can only imagine how Alex is feeling.

“Sleep when we dead, yeah?”

“Something like that.”

If he could, he’d freeze time, keep them in this quiet, happy moment as long as he can.

Alex might be thinking the same thing, as he turns in his seat so they’re almost facing each other. Nicke mirrors him, leaning a little on the table. They’re in their own little bubble here, curled into each other like lovers.

Nicke likes looking at him. Nicke has always liked looking at him. Alex is beautiful, especially now, glowing with happiness and in the light from the airplane window. And Alex is looking back. He’s seen Alex looking back before, but not like this. They’re so close to each other now.

Neither of them looks away awkwardly. No one interrupts. There’s just a warmth growing in Nicke’s chest that Alex must be able to feel, must see in Nicke’s face. He looks so fond.

Nicke really wants to kiss him, so this time he does.

It’s softer than he expected. There’s no urgency in the way Alex sighs against him, the way he nudges Nicke’s mouth open, the way his hand comes up to cup his jaw. Nicke fists his hand in Alex’s t-shirt and holds on. He could do this for hours, days.

It’s this easy. They should have done this years ago.

Nicke presses his forehead to Alex’s when the kiss ends. He rubs little circles over Alex’s collarbone, closes his eyes for a moment and just breathes. He feels more grounded now than he has in a long time. Of all the things that have happened to Nicke in the last twenty-four hours, this feels the most real. He’s not dreaming. Not even close.

He opens his eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Alex brushes some of Nicke’s hair out of his face. He’s looking at Nicke with a tiny smile on his face, eyes crinkling, and, God, Nicke loves him. His own face nearly splits from smiling.

Alex leans in, pressing their lips together with more purpose this time. Nicke puts his hand in Alex’s hair and tugs a bit so Alex will lean closer, crowding him into the corner. He’s a solid column of warmth and muscle as he pushes Nicke back into the cabin wall, and Nicke lets him, suddenly overwhelmed. Alex is, fuck, a really good kisser. His tongue is – his hands–

Nicke gasps, and Alex makes a pleased noise and runs one of his big hands up Nicke’s thigh. Shit. Nicke slides his hands up Alex’s back under his t-shirt and digs his fingernails in, to see what Alex will do.

Alex moans and shudders against him. Then he freezes, their faces millimeters apart. Nicke turns his head an inch, trying to see his expression to work out what happened. Then Alex’s face sinks into the crook of Nicke’s neck, shaking with silent laughter.

Okay, what. “Alex?”

“Fuck.” Alex’s hands settle on Nicke’s hips. “Sorry, we...”

Nicke hesitates. “You want to stop?”

“No!” He lifts his head back up. “Just think, you know, maybe slow down. Mile high club before first date is probably bad idea.”

Nicke chokes. “Oh, fuck you.” He bites his lip, trying not to laugh himself.

Alex cups Nicke’s face in both of his hands and kisses him again, gently. Nicky leans into it, closing his eyes. Alex really is a good kisser. Nicke would blow him now, if he wanted, but if Alex wants to wait until they’re alone in a bed, well, Nicke has no objections. Making out is good. Making out is great.

When they part Nicke touches Alex’s cheek, hooks his thumb in the corner of his mouth. “Sasha.” He rarely calls Alex that. It feels more intimate, somehow.

Alex tangles his hand in Nicke’s hair. “Nicky baby,” he says, and Nicke feels it deep in his bones. Alex has called him that hundreds of times. It feels brand new, when he says it like that.

Nicke knows what exactly he’s trying to say. They _have_ known each other for eleven years. Nicke can’t say it out loud yet, either, but he wants Alex to know anyway.

He takes one of Alex’s hands in both of his, carefully, pads of his fingers rough on Nicke’s palm. He looks up, holding Alex’s gaze, curls Alex’s hand into a loose fist, and kisses each of the knuckles in turn. Alex seems to be holding his breath, staring. As Nicke watches, he smiles, and Nicke squeezes his hand. Alex knows.

Nicke tugs him back in, brushing his lips over Alex’s cheek and along his jaw. Alex puts both hands high up on Nicke’s thighs this time, squeezes a bit. Fucking tease. Two can play that game. Nicke bites Alex’s earlobe, making him jump and swear. Nicke files that one away for future reference. This is going to be fun. “If you’re looking for date ideas,” he brushes his lips over the shell of Alex’s ear, “I like Italian.”

“Oh yeah?” Alex pulls back and smirks at him. “You free next week at all?”

Nicke slips his hand back under Alex’s shirt. “I think I can find the time.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- To be honest I could have written this entire thing about the cup run. Their mouths were [_this close_](https://itsahockeynight.tumblr.com/post/175332188793/) people!  
>  \- I’m on [tumblr](https://itsahockeynight.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/isthisrubble/)


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